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It was about eight in the morning when Valentine and Curumilla left Don Louis. The hunter had passed the whole night without closing an eye. He felt fatigued: his eyelids, weighed down with sleep, closed involuntarily. Still he prepared to make the researches his foster brother had intrusted to him, when Curumilla, noticing his condition, invited him to take a few hours' rest, remarking that he did not absolutely want him in following up the trail he had noticed in the morning, and that he would give him a good account of all he did.
Valentine placed the most entire confidence in Curumilla. Many times, during the course of their common existence, he had been in a position to appreciate the sagacity, cleverness, and experience of the chief; hence he needed but little pressing to consent to his proposition of going out alone, and after giving him the warmest recommendations, he wrapped himself up in his cloak, and fell off to sleep at once.